Friday, January 27, 2017

A Strong Sense of Place and Family

Jessica Conoley's "I Am Descended from Giants" was the first submission accepted in the Creative Nonfiction category for publication in Bacopa Literary Review 2016.
Editor Rick Sapp said he loved its tone and brevity; Editor in Chief
Mary Bast liked "how the author shaped the piece to give it the appeal
of a fairy tale;" and I still marvel at its strong sense of place and
family.

"I am Descended from Giants" was awarded first prize in Creative Nonfiction. Listen
to the rhythm of the words as the author sets the scene:

.
. . It's southeast Mis-sur-ah flat--the flat of white dotted cotton
fields and mosquito-infested rice fields. The kind of flat that offers
no shelter from the Mississippi River when the rain comes, and her banks
rise, and families wait to see just how high the muddy sludge will
climb up the baseboards in their living room . . . .

One quickly understands why the author dubbed her characters "giants."

. . . Because
it is flat, the giants made good time as they roamed the country roads
looking for work. The giants had been born to work, and to help, and to
pull a smile from you when you felt there was nothing to smile about.
The giants were born to live lives of adventure that made even their
forty-acre shadows seem insignificant. The giants' magic was in their
stories.
Three of the giants were brothers and it was the
tail ends of their lives that crossed over mine . . . . they taught me to
never speak ill of family and . . . . showed generosity in unexpected
places, leaving their oversized coats on the shoulder of foot-weary
travelers ill-equipped for the elements.
My child-eyes only
saw glints of their magic . . . they painted stories of alternate times
and realities. I think they could no longer see how very special each
story was. They had grown accustomed to the sparkle of magic over their
shoulders and, like a long-inked tattoo, they could no longer see it when
they looked in the mirror. None of them ever seemed to realize how
truly remarkable they were . . .

As time marches on, the author takes us back to place, to family, and to one's role within that family.

.
. . Sitting together, we looked over the flat, flat land and I waited.
No longer a child, I now knew what to look for. I had learned patience,
and I waited for the magic to come in its own time.
It
started in the winds that blew through the flat, flat land. Winds that
carried the sounds of footsteps on gravel roads and the methodic thump
of a shovel clearing the fields. Winds that carried the smells of
sun-ripened watermelon and mules in the barn. Winds that carried the
heat of summer even though we were at the edge of spring. Words flowed
from his mouth in deep baritone waves, the magic falling onto the fields
and seeping into the irrigation ditches . . .
Each of the
three sprung from the clouds . . . . And there, at their knee, was the
fourth giant, looking up to the men he would become. For one glorious
afternoon the stories spun together, a magic quilt suspended in the air,
enveloping me in the stories I needed to know . . . He looked to me
with tears in his blue eyes, but behind his sadness was hope. When he
broke our silence, his words washed over me. "They lived the stories,
and I learned to weave them with my voice many years ago. You heard my
call, because you are one of us. The final in our line, chosen to carry
the history forward." And with this declaration his magic spilled inside
of me, and finally I understood.
I am descended from giants.

Conoley says she was raised on 1980s action films, Jem and the Holograms, X-Men, and big-brother mandated Star-Wars. Decades later she started writing fantasy novels, flash fiction, and essays. In 2012, she became the Managing Editor of Kansas City Voices, an arts and literary magazine. If you'd like to see more of her writing, check out her website.